Coming Home
by mrpoohnminnie
Summary: A Sunday afternoon Chelsie ficlet. Set after S5.
1. Chapter 1

Please see my blanket legal disclaimer on my author page.

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Charles Carson strode from the backdoor with purpose. The noisy atmosphere of downstairs soon receded as his feet ground minute pebbles ever smaller on the lane into town. Measured, dignified steps could not keep up with his heart that started to gallop as he neared closer to his destination.

Anxiety tremored through his fingers as his body coiled ever tighter. His arms swung closer to his torso and strong legs.

It wasn't for lack of time. His well-tuned pocket watch ensured he started off from the big house with minutes to spare even though he regretted not being able to change into his own clothing.

But nothing could dissuade him, nothing until his destination was reached and everything was in hand.

His gloved paws clutched in the crisp air of the early spring morning. They clutched in memory of an action missing from his everyday routine for a few days. They clutched for a promise devoutly to be wished and soon to be realized.

It wasn't an errand on which Charles Carson found himself. Even if it was, he would never entrust it to anyone else.

He was privileged to be on this path and he was determined to earn his keep by continuing to demonstrate he was worthy of the charge. But he was propelled by something more simple yet no less profound. These were movements of a man possessing a deep-seated need that had long since been a part of him but only recently acknowledged.

The air was brisk as he walked but he hardly noticed it. His spinning thoughts were dominated by incalescent memories, warming with each spiraling circuit, furrowing deeper within him until reaching his very soul. He hardly needed his overcoat with such thoughts to keep him ablaze. Yet, he willed himself to calm, taking solace in the fact that this solitary but not lonesome journey was soon over.

A wisp of a breeze ensured his breath left small clouds in his wake, as if he were the very engine pulling the 11:37 into Downton Station moments ago.

Hearing the departing train whistle in the distance at 11:41, Charles Carson peered over his trusty timepiece before coming to a full stop six minutes later.

Guided by faith, he was stood as a sentry on the deserted road. Outwardly, he was motionless. But anticipation pervaded every pore as the moments ticked by.

Soon, he thought he heard the faint and rhythmic brushing of soles on pavement grow louder, echoing in the organic chamber of the tree-lined lane, matching his beating heart that yearned for his eyes to confirm what his ears and heart already knew.

In those final moments, his faith consoled him. His chest jutted out as his eyes remain fixed on the horizon—not as a butler at the ready, but as a man brimming with great emotion underneath a barely controlled façade.

Movement finally caught his eye at the bend in the road.

A breath caught in his throat.

And in that final moment of his solitary journey, his countenance bloomed in a great awakening that rivaled the fresh blooms of the burgeoning canopy that housed his reunion with the keeper of his heart.

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Reviews are always appreciated (especially when I finally managed to be brief! Less than 1000 words FTW).


	2. Chapter 2

Several of you had asked for a followup. I give you the following.

P.S. Elgar's Enigma Variations: Variation IX. Nimrod - Adagio, helped me to complete both chapters. It's a lovely, lovely piece.

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Elsie Hughes emerged from the steam at Downton Station, navigating the haze that ghosted across her cheeks and whisked about her skirt.

Her head was held high, alight with a private joy exuding tranquility, belying a journey bookended by nerves born of foreboding and anticipation.

Her growing smile could not be hidden, nor did she want it to be as she took confident strides that brought her closer to the end of her journey. Though she would pass through the village and stop ultimately at the Abbey, neither was her destination.

She was coming home—not to a place of stone and mortar, but to a home of flesh and bone.

Her heart dancing at the thought, she glided along the platform, barely earthbound. A highly anticipated homecoming and a pleasant reunion with her sister could result in nothing less. From the moment she received Becky's welcoming embrace, a relief secretly sought after years of uncertainty and separation flooded her chest while relief uncoiled her taut frame.

Since Christmas, a weight had been lifting from her slight but unyielding shoulders. Though bound to a future shared with another, that small, significant act only made her feel more liberated. But one thing had remained to weigh upon her until this dash to the sea—not her sister, but the separation needed to keep them both afloat financially. Now nothing, save for an ancient ceremony of vows, kept Elsie Hughes from all the family she'd got and ever wanted to have.

Swallowing painfully, her chin wobbled at the thought.

Walking past the thrumming machine, past the incessant clattering of steel and wood as it impatiently waited for its departure to the next destination, no one paid any mind to Elsie Hughes as she set off from the platform.

Her expression faltered then; her heart swelled with the reward reaped by unwavering faith. Becky's ebullient joy rang in her ears, mixing with the uneven tempo of the surf breaking just before the shore at Lytham St. Anne's. But another wave—soft and low, luxurious and increasingly tempting—flowed through her. Eyes shuttering languorously at the memory of her beloved and their southern shore, she was transported.

At the close of each day apart, his voice had tickled at her ear, rustled teasingly through hairs untethered from their pins. It had ebbed and flowed, her name on his tongue. Over and over, she heard it drown out the sound of the surf, making her body hum with imagined reverberations, permeating to the untested but not unknown.

_Mrs. Hughes. _

_Elsie_.

Only the departing train whistle arrested her from the memory and the promise that came with her homecoming.

Her pace quickened then, darting quickly by the church as she held tighter to her cases.

She could rest easy in a few moments, alone on a road bereft of occupants ensconced in their midday meals. All she needed was to make it around one last bend in the road.

In that quiet hour, she heard nothing but the faint rustling of leaves. That is, until her own startled inhalation of the dewy air echoed through the canopy.

Time stopped.

Absence had made her heart grow fonder, weaker with hunger, tighter with longing. But nothing could compare to how it constricted at the sight of her beloved.

He fingered the brim of his bowler, lifting it with every ounce of deference he possessed. And when he palmed before his heart, she felt a surge in her own, beating with a clamorous thud at his unspoken declaration.

Neither could remember who made the first move to close the distance nor how their hands finally joined. With an upturned face full of adoration, all thoughts of needing to hear his voice fell by the wayside. In the end, it hardly mattered.

What counted was his presence, his love—their love—now acknowledged and shared, flourishing in the spring and putting the burgeoning blooms to shame with their progress.

Brightening their patch of earth on that cloudy day were her rosy cheeks, his kind eyes expressing his deep, abiding regard without volition.

On the road to the backdoor, Elsie Hughes had already returned to her home.

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Though not as brief as part 1, I'm still pleased to be well under 1000 words. Thank you all so much for your wonderful response to part 1. I am at the height of finals preparations and hope to thank each and every one of you that I can in due time.

In the meantime, I'd love to know what you thought of Elsie's perspective. Cheers to you all.


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